KISSING!
by AliuIce0814
Summary: While Derek battles both the usual demons and the holiday season, 16-year-old Philip and 13-year-old Nick have to deal with their own monsters: teenage girls. Written for the Can we talk? challenge, "Before the Beginning." It's a very low 'T' rating.
1. KISSING

This (ahem) interesting concoction of a tale was created for a challenge on WendWriter's forum Can We Talk?. The prompt was "Before the Beginning", meaning the story had to take place before the show began, and there had to be an allusion to a role the main character would play in the future. See if you can catch it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Feed me. In lieu of cookies, you can review. Thank you.

* * *

In Which Derek Worries, Nick Flirts, and Philip Beats Nick with Football Cleats

Or

K-I-S-S-I-N-G

Dr. Derek Rayne, precept of San Francisco House and master of less than half of all he surveyed, was in a terrible mood. Jon Boyle had become inundated with beer at the Christmas party and had decided to lap dance with the Prime Minister of Japan's wife. Then, London Ruling House decided to call at midnight to check up on things "because one never knows what is going on in San Francisco, Derek." Indeed.

That was not to mention the ghost in the attic who had moaned for five hours because he wanted his slippers or the demon who had covered the master bath in oodles of green slime. At this rate, Derek realized, he would have enough explanations and paperwork to keep him at his desk through the New Year.

"Derek?"

The quiet Irish accent startled Derek out of his fog. Philip Callahan was leaning against the doorframe, panting and covered with grass stains. Derek smiled at the boy. "Philip! How was the football game?"

"All right, I guess. I was th' goalie."

"Just all right?" Derek frowned. Children in a Legacy House were few and far between; he had expected the teenager to brighten his day, not weigh it down with more worries. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Nothin'. Well," Philip admitted, "not nothin'. Derek, why do girls keep followin' me everywhere I go?"

Derek hastily choked back laughter. Philip's eyes had widened so that he looked deathly serious. "I would think that would be a compliment, Philip. It means they like you!"

"I know they like me, but why do they have t' always squeal and giggle?" He wrinkled his nose. "A couple of them even tried to follow me into the confessional…Then, Ellen caught me in th' loo. I don't know which was worse, th' girl's gigglin' or Father Forler's scoldin'. He had me do _another _penance for somethin' that wasn't even my fault!"

This time, Derek did chuckle. Philip shot him a dirty look. "It's not funny! It's embarrassing! Nick won't get off my case for it."

"I'm afraid you may have to deal with this for a while," Derek pointed out gently. "As you grow up, you'll meet even more women, which means—"

"—even more girls will be followin' me. Oh, Mother of God," Philip groaned. He collapsed into an armchair and flung a hand up over his face. "Nick will never forgive me for it. I'll have to be—what's th' word for someone who doesn't get married?"

"Celibate."

"Celibate, yeah. I'll be celibate."

Derek smirked. "What about your professional football career?"

"Then," Philip said simply, "I'll be th' first celibate football player."

"Good luck." Derek grumbled something Dutch under his breath as the phone began to ring. "I'm sorry, little one. I have to take this call. London Ruling will have my head otherwise."

Philip seemed to have picked up the mumbling-under-one's-breath habit from Derek. "Last I checked, sixteen wasn't little anymore," he grumbled as he trooped upstairs to his bedroom. "Maybe if it were, th' girls would leave me alone. I wish Ellen would back off. It was fun in th' beginning, but now she's just bein' ridiculous. Followin' me into _Confession_--!"

"Philip! Philip! Philip!" a voice hissed.

Philip chuckled and turned to his friend. "Nick! Nick! Nick!"

"Philip and Ellen, sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"

"Oh, really? I like this one better: Nick and Julia, sittin' in a tree…"

"Shut up!"

"Ooh, I'll tell Father Forler—oomph!" Nick slammed into Philip's side, and the two began a rather vicious fight in which football cleats were used to Philip's advantage. The two only halted their tussle when a musical giggle sounded from the stairwell.

All the blood drained from Philip's face as two girls with dark hair slipped up the stairs and sauntered past.

"Hi, Philip!" said Ellen.

"Well, hello, Nicholas!" said Julia.

Both boys stared after the pair until they vanished into Julia's bedroom. Nick turned to Philip with dark eyes stretched wide.

"You can stay single, man. I'll take the ladies!"

* * *

Note: For all of my fellow Americans, "football" means "soccer" in this story.

Apologies to the real Father Forler, who is not nearly so grumpy as this one.

Reviews are always appreciated, especially if they contain constructive criticism.

Love y'all,

Icey


	2. Tablecloths Solve Everything

This story was written for one of WendWriter's monthly story challenges (well, actually, it was Melreincarna's challenge). The prompt was "Before the Beginning", and there had to be an allusion to the role the main character would play in the future, also known as the show. My hint is that the main character is Philip.

Disclaimer: I am but a poor student girl. I own nothing. Please feed me.

In Which Philip Is Distraught, Nick Misbehaves, and the Cook Cleans Up

Or

Tablecloths Solve All Problems

"Cook? Cook!"

The old woman in question peered nearsightedly at the speaker. "Philip Callahan, what on earth are you doing in the kitchen at this hour of the night?"

The sixteen-year-old grimaced. "Um…Cook, what can I do, erm, hypothetically, if one of m' friends is drunk and snoring?"

"Hypothetically, eh?" The boy blushed and hung his head. "What sort of hijinks have you and that Boyle boy been up to now?"

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! It wasn't me! Well, not entirely. All I said was that I wondered what kind o' drinks Derek kept in his fridge. Nick was the one who decided t'…"

"Drink himself into oblivion."

"Somethin' like that, yeah." Philip sat in a chair and sighed. "I don't know how much he drank, Cook, but he's way out o' it. It's worse than th' Bishop after my Confirmation Mass."

The Cook rubbed her forehead. "So that's where all my cooking sherry went. Honestly, boy, between your escapades and Dr. Derek's demons, this House is a wreck!" She glanced back at the teenager, who had let his head bang on the table and was picking at the tablecloth most dejectedly. "Oh, child, it's not all your fault. Don't give me that look. I swear, those eyes of yours will have girls falling at your feet!"

"I'd rather be celibate, then," Philip grumbled good-naturedly. "Cook, could you please do somethin' about Nick? I can hear him snoring all the way down here."

Indeed, a sound much like that of a rusty chain saw was filtering down the stairs. The Cook winced. "Move it, boy. I need that tablecloth."

Philip scrambled out of the chair obediently. The tablecloth was immediately tugged off the table, bringing with it newspapers, cookie crumbs, and a rather decrepit recipe book. The old lady shuffled up the stairs with Philip and the tablecloth both trailing after her.

The teenager found himself holding his breath as they passed Derek's bedroom. Luckily, the precept was sound asleep for once in his life, and the Cook and the boy slipped past unnoticed.

The sound of snoring from Philip's room was growing steadily in volume.

Philip crossed himself. "How can Derek sleep through all of this?"

The Cook snorted. "He spends half his life chasing you boys and the other half pretending to be one of the Ghostbusters. He's exhausted. It's no wonder Dr. Rayne could sleep through an earthquake, let alone Nicholas's snoring."

"Cook?"

"Boy?"

"What is th' tablecloth for?"

"You'll see."

"Cook?"

"Boy?"

"Why don't y' ever use my name?"

"This way I don't have to remember which boy you are."

"Cook?"

"Philip! Hush your mouth!"

"Sorry."

By this time, the unlikely duo had made their way to Philip's doorway. Philip winced at the sight of Nick passed out among a slew of shot glasses, beer cans, and a half-empty bottle of cooking sherry. The Cook groaned impatiently.

"I was going to use that for Dr. Rayne's New Year's party! You'd better pray that I don't strangle your friend, Philip."

"Don't," Philip implored. "His da will give him hell anyway if he finds out."

The Cook sighed. "Stop pouting. It's too effective. Those eyes are killers, boy."

"I'm going to be celibate, like I told—Cook! What are y' doing to him?"

The old crone had tossed the tablecloth over Nick, beer bottles and all. Now, the only sign that the thirteen-year-old existed was the muffled wheeze of his snores. Philip crouched by his friend in dismay. "What if he can't breathe?"

"Then," Cook said simply, "that horrid snoring will stop."

* * *

To WendWriter in hope that she is happy.


	3. Darn ChildProof Caps!

Disclaimer #1: I don't feel well, so this is both a crack!chapter and a sick!fic.

Disclaimer #2: If I owned P:tL…*evil maniacal laughter*. As things stand, I own nothing, not Philip, Nick, Jon, Ellen, Julia or Tylenol.

In Which Nicholas Is Sick, Jon Is Drunk, and Philip Plays Nursemaid

Or

Darn Those Child-Proof Caps!

Philip didn't need the Sight like Derek to notice something was not right at the Boyle residence. For one, the door hung open at an awkward angle, as if it had been slammed off its hinges. For another, an eerie hacking sound, like a cross between an axe on wood and a cat with a hairball, echoed down the staircase. With a shiver, Philip fingered the rosary in his pocket for luck and then gingerly stepped through the doorway.

"Mother of God…"

Jonathon Boyle lay on the couch completely upside-down, with his feet in the air and his head on the tattered carpeting. Shards of glass reeking of alcohol lay around him; from his limited experience with such beverages, Philip hazarded a guess that Mr. Boyle had enjoyed just a little too much whiskey. This theory seemed proven when Mr. Boyle saluted him, albeit upside-down, and roared, "Row, me bully boysh! We're in a hurry boysh! We've got a long way to go!"

"Erm…yes, sir?" Philip said tentatively. "I'll just, um, head upstairs t' talk t' Nick now, all right? Ye'll be fine here? Eh…good." Slowly, he edged around Mr. Boyle's frantically waving arms. As soon as he was out of the drunken man's reach, Philip took a deep breath, crossed himself, and bounded up the stairs toward the awful hacking sound.

_"Row, me bully boysh, row!" _

"Row, me bully boys, row!" echoed a voice at the top of the staircase. "Row, me bully—" Suddenly, the wobbly singing upstairs was cut off by a series of low, rumbling coughs. With a wince, Philip knocked on the door they came from and then nudged the door open with his foot. "Row, me—Philip?"

Nick lay in the middle of what looked like the aftermath of an atomic bomb. Videotapes and eight-tracks were strewn haphazardly across the room, and a pair of dirty socks appeared stuck to (Philip flushed and quickly glanced away) a Playboy spread on the wall. Even more disgusting was the two-inch-thick layer of used Kleenexes that carpeted the floor of the room. As Philip watched, Nick sneezed violently and sent more Kleenexes spiraling lazily across the room to land at Philip's feet.

"Pilib?" the younger boy snuffled. "Pilib, I tink I'm sig."

Philip sighed. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Nick, if ye're sick, then why are ye singin'?"

Nick wheezed thoughtfully. "It drowds Dad out a bid!"

This silenced Philip momentarily. Then, after a quick prayer heavenward for guidance, he said gently, "Don't ye have enough sense t' take some medicine?"

"Yes!" Nicholas yelped indignantly. "I just couldn't open da package, Pilib."

"Oh, it's child-proof!" Philip grinned wickedly and ducked just in time to avoid being knocked unconscious by a bottle of acetaminophen. "I understand now. D'ye want me t' open this for ye, little boy?"

Nick buried himself under the pile of Kleenexes. After a moment, a muffled, "I'b tirteen, Pilib! I ab dot a child!" floated back to Philip. The Irish boy took that as a "yes," so, with a smirk, he picked up the bottle of Tylenol. "I'b warning you, dat ting's ebil!"

"It's possessed?" Under ordinary circumstances, Philip would have laughed the statement off, but his short time with the Legacy had already shown Philip that nothing was impossible. Gingerly, he put the medicine bottle at eye level and scrutinized it. "I don't know, Nick. It looks pretty normal t'—argh!"

With a sound like a gunshot, the bottle exploded open. While, downstairs, Jon plowed on with his song, upstairs, the teens sat in stunned silence as the remnants of the acetaminophen rained down on them..

Once the last pill fell to the ground, Nick poked his head out of the sea of Kleenexes and snuffled. "I told you, Pilib! Dat ting was ebil! I—_EEK! Help_!_ Demons_!"

"Hi, Nick! What was evil? I like your dad's singing today. _Row, me bully boys, row_!"

"Singing definitely beats his usual style. Hey, Philip. Woops, did we scare you?"

For a moment, the sea of Kleenexes only quivered. Then, Philip poked his head up with a gasp. "Mother of God, Julia, Ellen! Ye didn't so much scare us as…um…"

Ellen and Julia raised their eyebrows before bursting into giggles. "Philip, you're horrible at lying!"

"That means I spend less time in Confession," Philip muttered darkly. "How did ye two get in here?"

"The door was open," the girls answered simultaneously. "What's evil, Nick?"

The thirteen-year-old poked his head out of the Kleenexes again. "I'b sick. Da Tyledol was possessed. It wouldn't let me open it, and it exploded when Pilib tried!"

For a minute, the only sound was Jon's song. Then Ellen and Julia fell victim to such helpless giggles that they fell to the ground and rolled amidst the piles of clothes and Kleenexes.

"Isn't this great?" Ellen cried. "Now we have our proof!"

"I know," Julia snickered. "Boys are so helpless. They can't even open child-proof caps!"

Nick looked wildly at Philip. "Now dey tink we're losers! Have any divide inspiration?"

"Well, maybe," Philip hissed back, "if ye're willing t' sing in harmony…"

A smirk spread over Nick's face. "Man, I've been practicing dat all day. Ready?"

Phillip took a deep breath, "_It's row, me bully boys!"_

"_We're id a hurry, boys_!"

"_WE'VE GOT A LONG WAY TO GO_!"

As the boys' off-key voices began to follow Jon's bellows, Ellen and Julia laughed even harder…and then began to sing along. "We'll _sing and we'll dance and bid farewell to France_!"

"_SING ROW_!"

"_ME BULLY BOYSH_!"

"_ROW!"_


End file.
